


The British Are Coming, The British Are Coming

by Forever_Destiel



Series: My Little Angel: Friendship Is Supernatural [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Arthur Ketch Being an Asshole, Blood, Blood and Violence, British Men of Letters, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Castiel In Love, Castiel Reads, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Cute, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Dorks, Castiel gets shot, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel is Dean's family, Castiel is a Good Friend, Castiel is a Sweetheart, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, Dean is a Good Friend, Developing Castiel/Dean Winchester, Episode: s01e12 Faith, Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Human Dean Winchester, Human Sam Winchester, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Men of Letters, Men of Letters Bunker, Mick Davies Lives, Mick Davies is kind of nice, Minor Character Death, Multiple times, Protective Castiel, Rogue Angel Castiel, Shooting, Team Free Will, The Winchester Gospels, Vampires, but he's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forever_Destiel/pseuds/Forever_Destiel
Summary: 1x04;When Dean and Sam decide to take Castiel out on a hunt, they meet new, foreign adversaries that challenge them to a duel of sorts. However, more than their dignity is at stake when Castiel is the prize.





	1. Chapter 1

“Now, here’s a Rawhead. Nasty son of a bitch, tangled with one back in ‘05-”

 

“Season one novel twelve’s ‘Faith.’” Castiel looked to Dean, who chuckled from where they sat beside each other at the bunker tables as they now normally did in the mornings, when Castiel learned about all different kinds of monsters from Dean. Dean nodded, pointing to the picture from the monster encyclopedia the bunker had.

 

“Yeah, guess so,” Dean said, licking his lips as he thought. Castiel waited patiently, something he knew was key in having friends, as Dean thought of what to say next. Typically he would tap into the thoughts of those who weren’t speaking to see what was on their mind but refrained, not wanting to come across as someone who invades others’ privacy, which he had now learned not to do. After another  _ incident _ \- in which Dean and Castiel’s foreheads had collided due to Castiel standing a bit too close - and another scolding, Castiel knew privacy was something humans did indeed require. Dean opened his mouth to speak but soon a mug of coffee was set in front of him, Dean smiling a little. “Thanks, Sammy,” he said, gratefully taking the mug and having a sip.

 

“No problem,” Sam replied, sitting down in the seat across from Dean at the table with a coffee of his own. Castiel looked from Dean’s to Sam’s cups, thinking, Sam clicking his tongue guiltily. “Sorry, Cas,” he apologized, pushing out his chair to stand, “I’ll go get you a coffee.”

 

“It’s alright,” Castiel assured, “I can get it myself.” Sam rose an eyebrow, looking to Dean as Castiel stood. Dean gave a small nod in approval, Castiel smiling appreciatively as he went into the kitchen. The mug of coffee sat, steaming hot still, on the counter. Castiel went and grabbed a cup and poured himself his usual amount, three fourths of the way up. He knew coffee wasn’t necessary nor was he able to taste it, but he enjoyed the warm sensation as it went down his throat and he liked being able to share something with humans that most angels didn’t understand. He looked around the kitchen with a smile, thinking of all of the memories he’d gathered there so far; making sandwiches with Dean so that Castiel knew how to when Dean and Sam came back on late hunts starving; cleaning the dishes with Sam to get the job done faster considering Dean wasn’t as tidy as Sam liked; and Castiel nearly pleading Dean to tell him what his favorite pie was so that he could make it. Dean had declined, naturally, but it didn’t mean Castiel wasn’t going to find out one day.

 

Speaking of dishes, he knew, there were stacks of plates and silverware in the sink at the moment, Castiel rolling up his sleeves and taking up the sponge, turning on the water. He knew he could easily clean them up with his Grace within moments, but decided against it. He wanted to blend into human society and learn about the creatures he adored and had saved from Lucifer’s wrath, which required him to adopt their ways, no matter how foreign. He made sure the sponge was soapy enough to clean before picking up a plate with the remnant of last night’s takeout to scrub it. He closed his eyes and relished the feeling of being human, even if he wasn’t. It was nice to be normal, to be like a human. He rose an eyebrow and cracked his eye open when he heard whispering coming from the other room - to any human it’d be too silent to hear, but to him it was crystal clear.

 

“I think he should tag along on our next hunt,” Dean suggested quietly, “he’s soaking up this info like it’s nothing. He’d be a great hunter.” There was a small silence, as if Sam was debating his answer.

 

“I don’t know,” he said after a minute, “I mean, I know he’s basically indestructible, but…” His voice trailed off.

 

“But what?” Dean wondered, “he can take out a friggin’ demon with a single snap of his fingers. Besides, having someone like him come along on hunts would be great for when you sprain your wrist or something.” Sam huffed out a breath.

 

“That was  _ one _ time, Dean.” Castiel realized he’d been scrubbing the same plate over and over as the Winchesters moved onto other topics, shaking his head a little to get himself out of his trance as he’d eavesdropped accidentally as he finished up the rest of the dishes. By the time he was done his coffee was warm, and he took the mug in both hands and had a sip as he walked into the bunker’s “war room”, as Dean had affectionately called it. The brothers looked to him, both smiling a little.

 

“Cas,” Dean started with confidence in his voice, “I think it’s time you came with us on a hunt.” Castiel smiled a little, retaking his place at the table and flipping the pages in the encyclopedia.

 

“Shall I start studying, then?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Cas, you go upstairs. Sammy and I’ll take down here. Be careful.” Castiel nodded as he headed upstairs to the second floor of the house in a seemingly normal neighborhood, where very unnormal things had been happening. Sam had heard of a blood drive near this house having all of its blood stolen, and the residents never came out during the day. It was pitch black outside, all of the apparent vampires out. Castiel held his machete tightly, angel blade stowed in his sleeve. He wanted to make sure the Winchesters were alright, of course, but as a “newbie-hunter”, he needed to “get used to the ropes”, as Dean had said. Thus, he had to follow orders, and treaded silently upstairs. He held his machete at the ready, glad that Sam had a crossbow with dead-man’s blood arrows in a quiver he had with him. He didn’t know what he’d do if Sam or Dean got seriously injured or, his father forbid, turned. He brushed the fears aside and his eyes widened when he found bodies already on the floor, decapitated with their fangs still bared even after death.

 

“Sam, Dean,” he said softly but loud enough to be heard, “it seems someone else was-” He cut himself off when he heard talking coming from the next room, swallowing a bit as he gripped the machete with white knuckles.

 

“Coast clear,” Sam called from downstairs. Castiel winced at how loud his voice was, picking up the sound of a gun being loaded. Castiel licked his lips and kept his weapon at the ready, hearing the Winchesters’ footsteps coming up. Castiel’s breathing was steady as Sam and Dean approached, both wearing serious expressions with their long-range weapons in hand.

 

“Think it’s more vamps?” Dean asked quietly. Castiel shook his head.

 

“They’re human,” he answered, “but… one is dark. Corrupted.” Dean sighed, putting a hand to Castiel’s shoulder.

 

“Remember what I said about giving people the benefit of the doubt?” Dean reminded him gently, as if admonishing a small child. Castiel shook his head once more.

 

“They have guns.” Dean froze for a second and then went back to having his gun ready, the three prepared to attack if need be. The doorknob to the room turned and Castiel nearly drew in a breath as the humans revealed themselves, two men. The first was nonchalantly stowing his gun inside his jacket pocket while the second was looking on nervously.

 

“American hunters,” the first scoffed in a British accent. Sam and Dean rose an eyebrow, both exchanging a glance.

 

“Who’re you?” Sam questioned, eyes narrowed. The man rolled his eyes.

 

“Does it even matter?” the first inquired rhetorically. Castiel narrowed his eyes, using his Grace to make Dean’s finger go a few extra centimeters closer to the trigger of the gun.

 

“Yeah, it does,” Dean growled, getting the message. “So let me ask again; who the Hell are you?” Castiel was slightly taken aback at Dean’s sudden hostility, but supposed it was his instinct of being threatened by those he didn’t know wielding guns around those he cared about. Castiel wondered if Dean considered him one of those people, trying to repress the inevitable blush that wouldn’t relent in creeping up his cheeks.

 

“I’m Mick Davies,” the second man introduced in his own British accent, “and this is my, um, associate, Arthur Ketch.” Ketch threw Mick a glare, Castiel knitting his brow. While Mick was only somewhat corrupted, his soul half black and half white, Ketch was nearly corrupted completely, only a few specks of purity remaining.

 

“Why is your soul so dark?” Castiel hissed against his better judgement, “you’ve committed sin.” Ketch chuckled.

 

“Ah, an angel,” he said almost condescendingly, “then I suppose you are the brothers Winchester and Castiel?” Sam drew in a surprised breath.

 

“Then I guess a better question is how do you know who  _ we _ are?” Ketch rolled his eyes, Castiel quickly realizing he despised his cockiness. Dean’s was charming and endearing, while Ketch’s was downright obnoxious and somewhat unsettling.

 

“Do you even know what kind of bunker you inhabit?” he questioned sarcastically, as if expecting them not to know. Castiel knew they were defeated, but remembered having seen a certain insignia inside and the title “Men of Letters” in the files.

 

“It’s a Men of Letters bunker,” Castiel answered. Ketch rose an eyebrow, intrigued.

 

“Hm.” He sighed. “Well, we are the British branch of the Men of Letters. We’ve been sent to the States to, hopefully, eradicate any threats to the world properly, unlike you hunters.” Castiel scoffed, the brothers clearly shocked by his apathetic behavior.

 

“We give people the benefit of the doubt,” he responded truthfully, “we do not kill first and ask questions later.” Castiel straightened his posture, his angelic side coming into play. He knew he should repress it, but deep in his heart he knew it would protect his family more so than being kind to these strangers. “Unlike you, based on your soul, Mr. Ketch.” Ketch smirked.

 

“A clever one,” he muttered under his breath, “you’re nothing like the angels we’ve studied, yet exactly alike at the same time.” He withdrew his gun, Mick doing the same. Castiel found that Ketch did more of the talking than Mick did, and Mick seemed hesitant in his movements. Instead of pointing their guns at the other two humans, they trained them on Castiel. “Perhaps we should be studying you instead.” Castiel’s lips parted from confusion.

 

“St-studying?” he asked, disgust in his voice. He could hear the very, very soft sound of skin touching metal, glancing to see that Sam and Dean both had their fingers pressed against the triggers of their weapons. “You’ve been…”

 

“Yes,” Ketch said flatly, “we’ve been studying your brethren, seeing what makes them tick.” He smiled, Castiel nearly shuddering at the cruel nature of it. “And I think we may use you as our new test subject.”

 

“No way in Hell am I letting that happen, you son of a bitch,” Dean snarled. “Besides,” he added, smirking himself, “bullets can’t kill  _ or _ injure an angel or his meatsuit.” Ketch pouted.

 

“These are bullets made from melted-down angel blades,” he explained, Dean’s eyes widening slightly, “a precise shot to the heart, head, or stomach, and he will be dead within moments. Then we will have no trouble killing you and your brother.” Castiel grit his teeth at the thought of the pair of British men hurting his companions, and didn’t even mind that they threatened his own life.

 

“So what do you two want?” Sam wondered angrily, “you killed the vamps. Just leave.” Mick swallowed.

 

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” he interjected, “we’ve also been ordered to out-best any hunters and retrieve any test subjects we can.” Ketch shot daggers at Mick for a moment, then nodded.

 

“Yes, so I must challenge you to a duel of sorts,” Ketch added, “to see who are the better hunters.” He grinned widely, continuing, “And I believe your angel should be the prize.” Castiel took his machete in both hands, turning it upside down and thrust it into the wood of the floor. It stuck upright, all of the humans watching intently as Castiel laid his hands on both brothers’ shoulders in case they needed to flee. Ketch breathed out a chuckle and, without warning, changed the aim of his gun and shot. Castiel grunted in pain as he grabbed at his upper leg, blood blooming around the gunshot. Dean’s and Sam’s eyes widened and Sam knelt down to Castiel, Dean’s gun pointed at Ketch’s head. Castiel’s eyes glowed blue and he stared at Ketch, Grace piercing the air.

 

“Dean, don’t,” Castiel growled, not knowing if he meant to reject the deal or not to shoot Ketch.

 

“Challenge accepted, bastard,” Dean sneered, “if we win we keep the angel. If you win you leave the country.”

 

“ _ With _ the angel,” Mick reluctantly continued. Dean glanced to Castiel, gaze worried, swallowed, then nodded. Ketch smirked.

 

“May the best hunter win.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you sure this is necessary?” Castiel muttered, sitting down in the chair positioned inside a house that had been rumored to be infested with demons. Ketch rolled his eyes as Mick rounded behind him, handcuffing Castiel’s hands behind a chair with cuffs that had sigils carved into the metal.

 

“Completely,” Ketch responded monotonically. “For two reasons; so you may not help the Winchesters, and… as bait.” He smirked despicably, Castiel gritting his teeth. He looked to Sam and Dean, who were helpless as they watched while Mick secured him to the chair with chains and ropes doused in holy oil that burned even through his clothing. Castiel knew this was a gamble, that Ketch was hiding something up his sleeve, but they’d taken the deal and it had to be carried out. Castiel was somewhat worried, biting his lip nervously, not wanting the brothers to lose. He didn’t care that he’d possibly lose his life to the British Men of Letters, but that he’d lose his friends. He licked his lips, looking around on the floor in thought.

 

“Before this duel begins,” Castiel said, “may I have a word with my friends?” Ketch scoffed, Mick nodding.

 

“Of course,” he replied. Mick turned to leave, waving Ketch to follow. The Brit pursed his lips and gave a momentary glare before following. Castiel let out a breath, the brothers both looking anxious themselves.

 

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Dean assured, “we’ll take down these douchebags and we’ll keep you safe, too.” Castiel nodded.

 

“I don’t doubt that for a second, Dean,” Castiel responded truthfully, “but Ketch… I don’t trust him. He doesn’t seem like he honors his word - if anything, I’d expect him to mercilessly slaughter innocents rather than disobey an order.” Sam gave a nod.

 

“I have the same feeling,” he agreed, “which is probably why we’ll have to sneak you out of here and take them out.” He paused, then added, “We’ll leave Mick alone. He seems like a nice guy.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said, “and, uh…” He licked his lips, sighing. “I just hope you don’t get hurt. Or we lose. We don’t want that happening.” Sam nodded once more. Dean suddenly smirked, continuing, “They’re probably gonna lose, anyway - Brits don’t like getting themselves dirty.” Castiel breathed out a soft chuckle at Dean’s usual quips.

 

“Hopefully that is the case,” he said, “and, well…” He let out a gentle sigh. “If it does come to the point where you lose and I have to be taken off with them-”

 

“We’re not letting that happen,” Sam interrupted. “Don’t worry.” He looked to his watch. “They’ll be home any minute, Dean. We have to get to our starting places.” Dean nodded, giving a small pat to Castiel’s shoulder for reassurance, Sam muttering a “See you later,” as the pair left, Castiel alone. He made sure to stay calm, quickly realizing that, if the demons were to come, he’d be rendered helpless. They could have his way with him whether it be torture or other means, and he shuddered at the thought.

 

“Sweating yet, angel?” Castiel’s eyes quickly darted around the room, but he saw nothing. “Over here.” He looked off to the right side of the room to see Ketch standing there with a smirk, a wristwatch in hand. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

 

“I do not sweat under any circumstances,” he growled, “and aren’t you supposed to be in your position?” Ketch chuckled.

 

“You really think I’d abide to such an idiotic rule as that?” he wondered rhetorically. Castiel grit his teeth. Ketch was planning to cheat. Ketch stepped forward and seized him roughly by the chin. Castiel stared him down, and despite his Grace being repressed, energy nearly crackled in the air from his anger. Ketch smiled a little, Castiel sickened by it. “An angel such as you would be a wonderful asset to our research,” he said in a casual tone, “one who is willing to give up his angelic ways to blend in amongst humans. Intriguing, I must say.” He let go, Castiel straightening himself up in the chair. “You’d have much more worth with the British Men of Letters than the Winchesters - to them, you are a pet. To us, you are a weapon.” Castiel shook his head.

 

“I’d rather die than become one of your test subjects,” he hissed. Ketch breathed out a chuckle, another smile on his face.

 

“After our specialized treatments, you won’t have the free will to think that way anymore.” Castiel felt a shudder go up his spine, breath stilling in his chest. He couldn’t imagine having his free will taken away, one of his assets that set him apart from his brothers and sisters, much less being a slave of the British Men of Letters.

 

“You truly deserve to rot in the depths of Hell,” Castiel spat, earning a sharp slap to the face. Castiel kept his breathing slow and steady, refusing to back down.

 

“I see that Lady Bevell will have to perform many procedures once we win this challenge,” Ketch noted. Castiel scoffed.

 

“And who’s to say you're going to win?” he said firmly. Ketch smirked, an evil glint in his eye.

 

“They're too, shall I say, emotional for the job, and  _ weak _ . We’ll defeat them easily.” He grinned, adding, “I may have forgotten to mention that these demons are peaceful.” Castiel’s eyes widened slightly at the omitted statement. He grit his teeth once more in defiance.

 

“I have my faith,” he snarled, “that they will do what's right.” Ketch laughed a bit.

  
“Misplaced faith indeed, angel,” he murmured with a threatening tone to his voice. Ketch stepped forward, Castiel making sure not to flinch as the corrupted man reached out. He took hold of Castiel’s tie, undoing it. Castiel was silent as he took it and rounded behind Castiel, pulling his chin down to tie the cloth behind his mouth as a gag. Castiel’s eyes widened again and he struggled in the chair, trying to break free as Ketch made sure he couldn't speak. “There we are,” he said with a smile, coming to stand in front of the bound angel. “I'll see you in a few minutes,  _ after _ we’ve won.” And with that and a few taps on his watch, he disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel tried to yell past the gag as he pulled at his bonds, his voice coming out muffled. If Ketch was right, that meant these demons didn’t deserve to die, and he didn’t want it to be. Anything that wanted to live peacefully among humans deserved to be left well enough alone, not mercilessly slaughtered - he’d learned that from Dean. His breathing was heavy as he wrenched his eyes shut in concentration, attempting to use his Grace to its fullest potential. Unfortunately, someone knew what they were doing when they put those sigils on. He tried to wrestle his gag off but knew Ketch was near when he felt the gag being tightened around his head.

 

“Ah ah ah, angel,” a voice cooed in his ear, “struggling will only hurt you more. If you listen, then maybe your time with the British Men of Letters will be more pleasant.”

 

“Never!” Castiel almost shouted through the gag. There was a deep chuckle and Castiel kept on keeping himself calm - or as calm as he could get - as he went down another route. He focused his Grace toward sending a message to Dean and Sam;  _ Ketch is lying! These demons don’t deserve to die, please, tell me you can hear me! _

 

“Cas?” Castiel’s eyes grew wide in hope when he heard Dean’s voice. There was a soft growl, and then Castiel felt a chuckle against the shell of his ear.

 

“Oh, dear angel, you’re  _ really _ going to regret that.” There were pounding footsteps as Sam and Dean drew near, them both calling out. Castiel tried to respond but it only came out as another muffled cry.

 

“Cas, what the Hell?” Castiel tried to locate Ketch once the Winchesters entered, but the cloaking device hid his soul along with him. “Sammy!” An invisible force threw Sam against the wall, the window behind his head cracking and he fell to the floor in a heap, groaning.

 

“Ketch!” Castiel screamed, “it’s Ketch!” Dean’s eyes darted from Sam to Castiel, debating which one to go to, Dean rushing over to the angel. He was about to remove the gag when Dean’s head turned abruptly to the left, a bruise almost instantly forming at the impact.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled, taking out his gun and holding it up, aiming at the air, “come out, douchebag!” There was laughing and Dean was hurled against a glass door, it breaking around him. Dean shielded himself from the glass but the collar of his shirt was pulled up and he grunted as he was punched in the face over and over. Ketch finally smashed his head against the floor and Dean was knocked out cold, Sam drowsily trying to stand but falling. Ketch made himself visible as he stood, cleaning his knuckles covered in blood from Dean’s nose and mouth with a handkerchief. 

 

“That’s much better,” he said with a grin, glancing to Dean and then to Sam. Castiel summoned his Grace, hopefully to break out of the chains and give a few good blows to Ketch himself, but he cried out in pain when the sigils burned him from the intensity of its suppression. Ketch smiled. “Poor angel,” he said softly yet maliciously, “struggling in my spider’s web.” Castiel managed to wrestle the gag off, spitting it onto the floor.

 

“I’d rather be in an Arachne’s web than be  _ your _ prey!” Castiel hissed. Ketch chuckled, shaking his head. He smirked when they both heard the front door open.

 

“Time for the show,” Ketch said happily, taking out his gun. Castiel’s eyes widened and he could feel the hot burn of tears beginning to bud in his eyes as Ketch disguised himself once more, a man coming in.

 

“Oh my…” he said, “Casey, Annabelle, get back!” There was a loud female scream, Castiel doing so himself, when a bullet from an invisible gun went through the man’s forehead, his body glowing dimly before falling to the ground, dead. Castiel was helpless as Ketch went into the other room, there being another scream and thump as someone fell, and a girl’s crying as Ketch, now visible, dragged a small girl in by her long hair.

 

“You killed Mommy!” she shrieked, eyes black, “and you killed Daddy!” Ketch grinned, watching Castiel as he locked the small girl to his chest, positioning the gun under her chin.

 

“Please, don’t,” Castiel got out at a meek whisper. Ketch hummed a bit in satisfaction.

 

“Oh, sweet angel, I will.”

 

And then there was a bang.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks, blinking them away, as the small demon-girl’s corpse fell to the ground, Ketch pocketing his gun casually as if there wasn’t a spray of blood on part of his suit. “Well, then,” Ketch muttered, “it looks like we’ll be having a new guest in our facility.” He looked up and smiled at Castiel. “If you cooperate, perhaps we needn’t perform the treatments on you.” Castiel set his jaw, willing his crying to stop.

 

“Bite me,” he growled defiantly. Ketch pursed his lips and glanced to Castiel’s leg, where the bullet wound had long since healed. He took out his gun and aimed, once more shooting Castiel. Castiel groaned from pain, the chains suppressing his Grace enough that he couldn’t heal himself, either. Ketch huffed out a breath, Mick appearing out of thin air.

 

“Are you sure knocking out the Winchesters was necessary?” Mick questioned, stuffing his watch into his pocket. Ketch nodded.

 

“Go get the angel,” he ordered, Mick obliging quickly. He went over and began to undo the chains and ropes, instead putting one of the chains securely around the cuffs and leaving those on. Castiel limped as he was brought over to the center of the room, sight cast downward. “Now if you’d be so kind as to get the car, we can catch the nearest flight back to England so we can study this…” He took Castiel’s chin in hand again, pulling him up to look into Ketch’s dead eyes as he smiled. “Angelic beauty.” Castiel’s eyes widened and he took a step backward, Ketch’s touch pulling away. Ketch chuckled, adding, “He’ll be fun to break.” Ketch’s lips parted from surprise when he heard the click of a gun loading.

 

“Over my dead body.” Castiel looked hopefully behind Ketch to see Dean holding his gun to the back of Ketch’s head, face covered in drying blood. Sam was on Ketch’s right side, the angel before him smiling in triumph. “Now,” Dean grit out, “if you don’t hightail it back to England I swear to his  _ father _ I’m going to shoot you dead, right here, right now.” Ketch looked downward, debating his options. Mick was doing so as well before he stepped back, letting the chain fall to the ground. Ketch shot him a glare before setting his jaw.

 

“Fine,” he muttered, “but you will pay for this one day.”

 

“ _ You’re _ the one that broke the deal,” Sam said, pouting in concentration as he kept his gun aimed at Ketch’s temple, “now go.” Ketch took a step forward, turning to face them. Dean still continued to keep his sights on Ketch’s head as the British Man of Letters began to leave, giving them one final, angry stare before heading out, Mick closely behind. Castiel sighed in relief and the brothers ran to his aid.

 

“That’s definitely not how I imagined your first hunt going,” Dean said under his breath as he picked the cuffs. Castiel nodded.

 

“Definitely not.”


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel grunted as Sam used his tweezers to remove the bullet once they’d gotten back to the bunker. “It’s really deep in there, sorry,” Sam apologized, Castiel biting on his knuckles. Usually a regular gunshot would mean him no harm, but an angel blade bullet hurt immensely. Getting it out the first time was hard enough, and he’d expected it to be easier the second time around, but it wasn’t. Sam finally got a hold of the bullet, pulling it out slowly past mangled flesh and muscle. Castiel sighed, breathing heavily, once it was out, his Grace piercing the air with a ringing noise as the wound healed, a hole and a dark stain still in his slacks.

 

“How’re you feelin’, buddy?” Dean clapped a hand to his shoulder as Castiel stood, three beers in hand. He handed one to Castiel, the other to Sam. Sam and Dean opened theirs, Castiel giving a nod.

 

“I’m fine,” he assured, “it was only a flesh wound.” Dean chuckled and had a few gulps of his beer, Sam smiling a little. Castiel looked down at his bottle, which was chilling his hands at the moment. Dean rose an eyebrow, watching him quizzically but with a smile on his face.

 

“Need a hand?” Castiel didn’t give any nod before Dean took it, opening the bottle with ease. “Here.” Dean held it out and Castiel took the offering apprehensively, having a sip. It stung as it went down his throat but gave him an odd, sort of warm feeling. He let out a “hm” and shrugged to himself. “Like it?” Dean wondered, sitting down at the many chairs surrounding the table.

 

“I… I think I do,” Castiel said slowly, brow knit. He sat down once more, Sam doing the same.

 

“So, what do you say about trying another hunt?” Sam proposed hesitantly. Castiel chuckled, shaking his head.

 

“I believe I should stay away from hunting for a while,” he said with a smile, “studying would do me some good.” Sam and Dean nodded.

 

“Sounds about right,” Dean said with a laugh. He put down his beer and sat forward in his chair, as if expecting Castiel to do something. Castiel cocked his head to the side from confusion. Dean rolled his eyes and chuckled again as he took out his cell phone, holding it out to Castiel. “I’m guessing you have a phone call to make.” Castiel smiled some more, Sam laughing.

 

“This’ll make one Hell of a story for Chuck,” Sam commented. Castiel nodded, dialing his number.

 

“And I’ve learned something very important,” Castiel added, putting the phone to his ear as it rang. “That friends will stick together and get through anything no matter what’s at stake.” Dean nodded, leaning back in his chair and having some beer.

 

“Sounds like a good lesson,” he said with a smile around the rim of the bottle. Castiel grinned.

 

“Perhaps instead of ‘Cas’ you can call me Paul Revere - ‘the British are coming, the British are coming.’” They all broke out into laughter, Castiel glad that he was still with his friends after such a bleak ordeal. Castiel thought to himself for a moment. “You know,” he said quietly, “I don’t think of you as friends.” Sam rose his eyebrows.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked. Dean gave a similarly confused expression, Castiel smiling softly.

 

“You’re not just friends… you’re family.” The brothers exchanged a glance, and Castiel looked into his lap, frowning. “You don’t feel the same.” 

 

“No, of course we do,” Sam protested. Dean nodded, putting his hand on Castiel’s knee. Castiel’s eyes grew wide and he looked away, hoping the heat creeping up his cheeks wasn’t visible.

 

Dean said with a warm smile, “Cas, you’ll always be a friend, and a part of this family.”


End file.
